A Song in the Rain
by Nelauk
Summary: ...he remembered how beautiful his voice was, and the American couldn't help but miss it a little. After he had left him, the Brit had never really bothered to sing after that...


The rain fell in cold, unrelenting sheets. The wind whipped and screamed into Alfred's face and pummeled at his shivering little body.

He was frightened and confused. He did not want all this coldness and the wet gales of wind. The little boy whimpered-he wanted Arthur's soft hands and his warm body and his gentle voice._ I am going to die out here_, he thought bitterly,_ in the rain, and then England will never find me._

They had been playing hide-and-seek when the storm came. Alfred had wind up lost amid the torrent, and now he was just wandering through the fields and the forest, desperately seeking the familiar old house that he and Arthur lived in. The little boy cried and whimpered for his guardian, very much regretting playing the stupid game in the first place-now he was going to die because of it.

His clothes were plastered to his skin, allowing the frigid air to get through it to his body. He shivered horribly and his teeth were chattering as loudly as a woodpecker striking the trunk of a tree.

"England," he cried out into the rain, _"England!"_

Nobody answered his calls, no one except the distant rumbling of thunder in the sky.

Alfred started to cry, and this time he cried hard. He already missed England desperately, and the thought of dying out here and not being able to be held or kissed by him ever again gnawed viciously at his heart.

"Englaaand," he wailed, tottering through the wet grass, like a scared fawn.

The wind howled in reply. Alfred let out a mournful cry and fell to the ground, curling up on the muddy earth and sobbing furiously.

He remained like that for a few minutes more, and then his lamentation was stopped short when he heard strange footsteps in the distance.

What was_ that?_ Alfred moaned softly in fear. The footsteps sounded heavy, and he could hear the squelch, squelch, squelch as he heard the feet fall into the sodden ground.

Or maybe paws._ It's a bear,_ Alfred thought, considering the worst,_ and it's going to eat me, and then England's going to come out to find me and-_

The pawsteps came closer. The little boy flinched and let out a long keen of fear, curling up into a ball. The shadow of the bear eventually rose above him, and Alfred screamed, his heart pounding so hard he was certain it would explode.

But then something strange happened. The bear spoke. It said very gently, "Little one, don't scream so."

Alfred's blue eyes flashed open, and he found himself looking into another pair, and they were as green as the grass around him.

"Did I scare you?" asked Arthur, crouching down, his voice as soft as feathers.

_"E-England,"_ he sobbed, relieved beyond comprehension. Gasping, he jumped up and buried his face into his wet but warm chest. He could hear Arthur's heart quicken within it.

"I was so worried, my love," England murmured, his breath fresh and wonderful against Alfred's hair. "Little one, I thought you would die out there."

Alfred did not answer, only cried and moaned into his body.

"Shh," whispered Arthur, his voice so tender, "shh, there's no need to cry now. I'm here."

He stroked his hair, tutting softly. "Come now, let's get back to the house, shall we? I fear that you might get sick, especially in this kind of weather." Arthur lifted him up from the soaked grass, smiling lovingly down at his little colony.

Together they made their way along the lane back to their house. Amid the growling thunder Arthur sang to Alfred, and the little boy fell asleep, his voice was just so beautiful and so lulling…

And then he woke up.

Alfred's eyes opened wide and he sat up in his bed, scratching the back of his head. It was still storming something awful outside.

He had dreamt about England again. The lullaby still drifted through his head loud and clear, and for a second he swore that Arthur was in the room, singing to him. He felt a strange twinge of nostalgia in his chest temporarily; he remembered how beautiful his voice was, and the American couldn't help but miss it a little. After he had left him, the Brit had never really bothered to sing after that...

No-he missed it very much. Suddenly he wanted to hear Arthur sing for him again.

There's a world meeting today, he remember, his thoughts a little dimmed from his sleep. Alfred supposed he could just ask him to sing-but then he remembered that Arthur was difficult and probably wouldn't sing for him anyway.

_Yeah, he'd sing for me all right-a lullaby of F-bombs from his big mouth!_

Alfred smiled at the thought. But still, he wanted to hear Arthur sing. He wondered if he was still able to, though-he had not sang for quite a while, that he knew.

_I guess I'll just have to figure out a way_, America thought.

"...and that's it for today!" finished Alfred cheerfully, nodding to all the members in the room, who looked less than enthusiastic. "You guys are all dismissed! Come on,_ bounce._" He shooed them away, and, murmuring boredly, most of them sat up and went for the door.

Sighing, he stepped away from behind his seat and looked around, searching for England. He was easy to find though-the Brit was leaning against the wall, talking to Francis.

"...I should lead the meeting one day," he told the Frenchman, his eyebrows knitted into a scowl. "I'd do much better than America, trust me…"

"England, my man!" Alfred called to him, grinning at Arthur happily. "What's up?"

"And that's why," Arthur declared, rolling his eyes. "That's exactly why I want to lead. None of this, 'what's up, dude!' And all that."

"C'mon, don't be hatin'," America laughed, clapping the Englishman on the shoulder.

"Oui, Angleterre, you must stop this constant 'ating business of yours, eet is rather unhealthy," France added, smiling loftily.

"Shut up, Francis, and anyway what do you want of me, America?" He glared suspiciously at the American.

"Something."

"What the hell is 'something'?"

"I need to talk to you," Alfred sighed, "about something."

"Something. Something, something. _Christ._ Is that the only word in your vocabulary?"

"Ah," interrupted France, raising his hand to silence them, "let me take a guess. Amerique wishes to take you into the restrooms and-"

"Oh, just sod off, will you," Arthur snarled at him. He turned his eyes to America. "You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"Not in my dreams," Alfred assured him. Ironically he did dream about him.

"I hope," said the Englishman.

Silence. And then France yawned. "You two are very boring...I think I shall take my leave." With a swish of his capelet, he called out an_ au revoir_ towards the two and strutted away.

"Good riddance," said Arthur, not even bothering to lower his voice.

They stood together for a moment as Alfred struggled to form the question in his mind. How could he ask his former guardian without sounding incredibly awkward in the process?

"Well?" he asked him haughtily. "What is it?"

"Let's just...uh...take this somewhere quiet. Out of the way, yeah?" Alfred told him quickly.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. He looked suspicious.

"Dude, don't worry," Alfred sighed, smiling at the Englishman to reassure him. "I'm not going to try to mack on you or anything."

"Oh, thank the Lord."

Together they made their way down the marble floor of the great hallway, their footsteps echoing in the vaults and arches.

Alfred lead the way-his heart was pounding quite hard, and he swore he could feel the Brit's irritation emanating from him. _You better not fuck this up, Alfred, or I swear to God…_

"Uh...right here," the American told him, directing him to the benches along the wall.

"What's_ wrong_ with you?" Arthur demanded, his voice sharp. "Why are you so nervous?"

Alfred sat down and leaned back against the wall, stretching out his neck. He had to make this quick.

"So I came here because you wanted me to admire your neck. All right then." England snorted, about to turn to leave. "Well, there goes ten minutes of my life, right into the dustbin-"

"Sing for me," America blurted out suddenly. This stopped England right in his tracks.

"You…you want me to what?"

"Sing?" Alfred asked, turning his head to look at him. "For me?"

It became quiet, very much so. And then England asked him again, as though he wanted to confirm the request, "Sing for you? Why?"

"Because...because I had dream about you, England," he admitted a little nervously. "You were singing to me in that dream, when I was still a kid. Before I became independent."

Immediately Alfred regretted his choice of words greatly, because he could hear Arthur choke softly. He watched, his eyes wide, as England brought his hand to his mouth and the blood dripping to the floor.

"Don't you ever mention that," he hissed at him, swallowing the blood in his throat. "Don't."

Arthur turned to look at his former colony again, and America winced at the streak of red trailing from his mouth.

"Look, I'm sorry," Alfred apologized to him quickly. "But please sing for me, okay? I...miss it."

He gazed at England with such a sad, lost look that Arthur could feel himself melt inside-his usually stern expression began to soften. It was that same, old look that the island country used to give him when he was little, that same tender look.

"All right then," Arthur murmured, giving in. He sat down beside Alfred and wiped the blood of his lip.

England closed his eyes and mused for a moment, his long eyelashes glowing in the sunlight. And then slowly he opened his eyes and mouth, and began to sing.

It was the old lullaby the Brit had sung to him, all those nights ago. Alfred felt the familiar feeling of bliss envelope him, because England's voice was still so lovely and so beautiful, and he could feel the sound of it thread through his very loins, his entire being...a shiver passed through the American. Once again he saw himself standing him that rainy field again, and the feel of England's arms around him…

"There," Arthur told him softly, his green eyes warm. "Are you satisfied?"

Alfred did not reply, he still felt very euphoric.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," said England as he got up from his seat. He did something he rarely did, and that was smiling at young country. America felt his mind go cloudy.

"I will see you at the...next meeting," Arthur murmured, his voice kind, and he turned and walked away into the hall.


End file.
